


Say No to This

by fluxweed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Infidelity, Inspired by Hamilton, Little Shit Draco Malfoy, M/M, No Lyrics, Not a Crossover, Songfic, Sort Of, possibly also light bdsm, possibly dubious consent depending on your interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluxweed/pseuds/fluxweed
Summary: Harry is working late. Draco doesn't know where else to go.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 47
Kudos: 245





	Say No to This

**Author's Note:**

> A drarry twist on a Hamilton song. (You don't have to have listened to a smidge of Hamilton to read!)
> 
> A huge, huge thank you to the incredible [laughingd0g](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingd0g) for her kindness, patience and phenomenal beta skills. I'll be forever indebted to you, Lep. ♥

It was unbearably warm in Grimmauld Place. For the seventh day in a row, Harry found himself hunched over his desk, the room lit only by the dusk sky through the grubby window. It was summer, and it shouldn’t be fully dark outside for another hour yet. But Grimmauld Place was always somehow darker and drearier than the rest of the world. 

Harry had grown used to it in the last ten years; Ginny had not. She had tried to get Harry to move, to buy another place with his endless amounts of gold, but Harry refused, stubbornly unwilling to part with something so closely tied with Sirius in his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone else living there, someone else sleeping in the room that Sirius had grown up in, someone else cooking in the kitchen he had moped in.

It wasn’t that Ginny didn’t understand. It was just that she was being logical about it, which Harry couldn’t bring himself to do. Sirius hadn’t even liked it here, she would say. He’d hated it as a child and he’d hated it as an adult. He of all people wouldn’t have wanted Harry to be cooped up here as Sirius himself had been. He of all people would have wanted Harry to be happy.

But Harry was happy. Or at least, he wasn’t _un_ happy. So there they stayed. They stayed, and lived with the gloominess, and argued about it every three months like clockwork.

Their most recent argument was still ongoing. Ginny had wanted to spend some time away from London, just the two of them. They had both earned a summer holiday, she said, how about they go somewhere nice? Someone on the team had told her about this great place with a beautiful lake almost as big as the one at Hogwarts. Wouldn’t it be nice to get away from the oppressive halls of Grimmauld Place?

At any other time, Harry probably would have agreed. Spending two weeks with nothing to do but relax and enjoy the summer sounded heavenly, but…

But he was in the middle of a case. A case that he didn’t trust anybody else to take over – there _was_ nobody that could take over. It had to be him, and he had to get it done soon. Lives were at stake.

Ginny had been more disappointed than angry. There was always a case, she’d said. And Harry always had to be the one to do it, even though there was a whole Auror department. Harry had told her that she didn’t understand, he couldn’t go into detail, but this one – this one really was important.

Ginny had said fine, then. And she went alone. She’d been gone a week and Harry had barely had time to miss her; he’d spent almost every minute since she’d left poring over files and chasing leads that did not actually lead anywhere. He hadn’t eaten in days, he hadn’t slept for longer than twenty minutes at a time…but he needed to solve this case. It was his job.

Harry’s eyes struggled to focus as he peered down at his notes. His handwriting had become steadily worse as the week had progressed, and it was hardly neat at the best of times. A tight band of pain had settled across his head around Tuesday – or was it Wednesday? What day was it again? – which had recently started giving him the occasional flash of white across his vision alongside particularly painful throbs. 

But it would be over soon. It had to be. He was so close…

The doorbell clanged and Harry jerked so violently he almost fell off his chair. He lifted bleary eyes to the clock on the mantelpiece. Who on earth would be at his door at this time of day? Didn’t they know he had work to do?

Grumbling, he stumbled down the stairs and opened the door. As tired as he was, it took him a few seconds to process who was standing on his doorstep.

“Malfoy? What – what are you doing here?” 

Malfoy met his gaze. He looked as awful as Harry felt. His skin was almost grey. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was a mess, and his robes were hanging loosely off his spiky shoulders.

“I…” Malfoy said, looking lost. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Harry stared at him. He didn’t have time for this. “To go for what?”

Malfoy’s eyes were wide and desperate. “I – my parents, they disowned me. I’m here alone, there’s nobody I can – I thought…” He raked a hand through his hair. “You’re so…so _honourable_ , I thought – I don’t know what to do.”

Fuck. Harry really, really didn’t have time for this. His head gave a sharp pang of protest. “Can’t you, I dunno…go to an inn for the night? Until it blows over?”

“I don’t have any money,” Malfoy said, his voice high and tight. “I don’t have anything. I barely made it out of the manor. Father was angry, he–” Malfoy drew his arms around himself. “I didn’t get a chance to pack anything, and Gringotts won’t let me access the vault. I tried, but there’s nothing I can… I’m sorry.” He met Harry’s gaze and took in Harry’s unimpressed expression. He blinked rapidly, three times, and shook his head. “Sorry. I can – I can go.”

Goddamn it. Malfoy looked truly pitiful. What sort of person would Harry be if he slammed the door in Malfoy’s face, knowing that Malfoy had come to him for help?

Malfoy seemed to take Harry’s indecision as a refusal. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and nodded sharply. He turned to leave.

“Wait,” Harry said without thinking. Malfoy looked back at him wretchedly, hopefully. “I can’t – you can’t stay here,” Harry said. “I’m in the middle of a case, there are sensitive files everywhere.”

“Of course,” Malfoy said, bowing his head. “I understand. I apologise for disturbing–”

“But,” Harry said, interrupting him. “I can give you some gold. The Leaky Cauldron always has rooms. You can use my Floo.”

Harry was distantly horrified to see Malfoy’s smudged grey eyes fill with tears. “I… Thank you.” Malfoy drew a shuddering breath. “I know I don’t deserve it. I’ll repay you as soon as I can.”

Harry shrugged awkwardly and stepped aside to let Malfoy in. “It’s fine,” he said, closing the door behind them. “Fireplace is this way.”

Malfoy followed him to the parlour, which Harry never used and therefore was free of stray files, though not free of a telltale layer of dust. He summoned a bag of gold and wordlessly held it out alongside the pot of Floo powder. But Malfoy hesitated. 

“I’ve asked too much already, I know, but…”

Harry waited. Malfoy didn’t finish his sentence. Harry’s headache throbbed. 

“Spit it out, Malfoy,” he said impatiently.

“Would you come with me? Just while I get the room.” Merlin, he looked so thin.

“What?” Harry’s headache throbbed more insistently. “Why?”

“I’m not–” Malfoy wrapped his arms around himself again. “I’m not generally welcomed in public spaces. Because of…you know.”

“Because you were a Death Eater,” Harry supplied. Malfoy flinched. Nodded.

Harry exhaled. He checked his watch – it was just past nine. If they left now, he could be back well before half past and still squeeze in a solid chunk of work before the morning. Maybe a break would be good for him. His neck ached from having been hunched over his desk, and he’d been struggling to focus. A quick respite might be just the ticket.

“Fine,” he said. “You first. I’ll be right behind you.”

Malfoy’s face crumpled a little and Harry was worried he’d get tearful again, but he seemed to gather himself together. He straightened his shoulders, took some Floo powder and pocketed the gold. “I won’t forget this, Potter,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it. Go on. I’ll see you there.”

Malfoy nodded once, chin held high, and disappeared into the flames. Harry stared at the smouldering firewood left in his wake. He hadn’t seen or even thought about Malfoy for years. What was Harry playing at, giving him a bagful of Galleons? If their positions were reversed, the only thing Malfoy would have given him would have been a triumphant sneer and a door slammed in Harry’s face.

Harry absently rubbed his forehead and cast a regretful glance up to the ceiling, where his study lay waiting. He heaved a sigh, let his head fall back in frustration, then stepped into the fire.

He arrived to a Leaky Cauldron that was notably quieter than usual. The reason for this became obvious almost immediately. Malfoy – pale and bedraggled, but with twin splodges of red high on his pointy cheekbones – stood by the bar glaring defiantly at Tom, who glared right back.

“I told you, we’re booked up,” Tom was saying stubbornly, his voice raised so the other patrons could hear. “No rooms available.”

“You must have something. I’ll pay double the usual rate.”

Tom let out an unpleasant bark of laughter. “For fifty Galleons, I’ll let you sleep out with the bins where you belong–”

“Good to see you again, Tom,” Harry said, striding over. “Is there a problem?”

Tom did a double-take so big it was almost comical, but Harry wasn’t in a laughing mood. “Mister Potter!” he said, his smirk untwisting into a welcoming smile. “No, sir, no problem at all. What can I get you? Any drink for you is on the house.” 

Harry smiled tightly. “That’s kind of you, but I came to see whether Malfoy here had got settled with his room for the night. Did you say you were fully booked?”

“Oh. I – er…” Tom looked from Harry to Malfoy and back again. “I didn’t realise you knew each other.”

“We go back a long way,” Harry said. He resisted the urge to check his watch again. “Are you sure there are no rooms available? No last-minute cancellations?”

It felt like the entire pub was holding its breath for Tom’s reply. Tom’s eyes darted around again. A sheen of sweat glistened on his bald head.

“I’ll just…double-check my records,” he said finally. “Excuse me one moment.”

Harry watched dispassionately as Tom disappeared into the back room. A murmur of conversation ignited around them.

“The power of being Harry Potter,” Malfoy muttered.

Harry glanced at him. His cheeks had faded from blotchy red to a sore-looking pink. The colour suited him better than the grey that had washed him out when he’d stood, pathetic, on Harry’s doorstep.

“I don’t have time for any of this,” Harry told him. “The quicker Tom stops arsing around pretending to be some virtuous hand of justice, the quicker I can go home.”

Malfoy looked away and nodded. “Of course. I appreciate you taking the time.”

Harry waved an impatient hand, but was saved from having to muster up a response by Tom re-emerging from the back room, making a show of peering down at a large, battered book.

“Forgive me for the confusion, gents. It looks like we do have a room available after all.”

“Imagine that,” Harry said drily. “Would that be at the usual rate? I heard you mention the sum of fifty Galleons.”

To his credit, Tom looked cowed. “Ah, just a little joke, Mister Potter, do forgive me. It will be ten Galleons per night, as usual.”

Harry tapped his fingers on the bar while Malfoy handed over the gold. He cast a longing look over his shoulder at the fireplace, but grudgingly decided he should stay until Malfoy was in the room, just to make sure Tom didn’t actually lead him out to sleep in the street. 

Fortunately, Malfoy’s room turned out to be fairly standard. Not the best room in the inn by far – not even as good as the one Harry had stayed in for free in third year – but functional and clean. Harry gave it a brief once-over and cast a few hex-detection charms before nodding, satisfied.

“Well,” he said once he’d completed his inspection. “I should head back home.”

Malfoy didn’t move. He stood silhouetted against the window, staring out at the darkening orange sky. He looked…helpless.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, louder. His head throbbed again. “I said I’m going to go now.”

Malfoy looked at him, turning his head but not the rest of him. His face looked as tired as Harry felt, but his movements betrayed no signs of fatigue when he came closer to Harry. A bit too close, actually. He reached up to touch the fabric of the robe covering Harry’s chest.

“Stay?” he asked quietly, bright eyes looking at Harry through pale lashes.

“Er,” Harry said.

Malfoy moved even closer. Harry could feel the heat of his body through the robes separating them.

“Please,” Malfoy said in a low voice. “I don’t want to be alone. I’ll make it worth your while.” From the look on his face, there could be no doubt about what he meant. 

Harry didn’t move for a long moment. He never would have thought in a million years that Malfoy would make such an offer, let alone that Harry would be tempted by it. 

But then Malfoy made the offer. And Harry… 

Harry was tempted.

“Malfoy,” he tried, wrapping his fingers around Malfoy’s thin wrist. “Come on. You don’t mean that.”

Malfoy tilted his face up. His mouth was suddenly startlingly close to Harry’s. For the first time in days, Harry felt wide awake. 

“I do,” Malfoy murmured. “I mean it. Stay.” 

“I…” The feeling of Malfoy’s breath playing over Harry’s face sent unexpected thrills down his spine. His eyes, no longer struggling to focus, were fixed on Malfoy’s. This was ridiculous. What were they doing? Harry imagined himself saying no, stepping out of Malfoy’s grip and leaving. Why wasn’t he leaving? Merlin, what was wrong with him? “Malfoy…”

“Potter,” Malfoy breathed, then his lips touched Harry’s, and Harry found himself kissing back, hard. 

Malfoy let out a whimper and a voice in Harry’s head reminded him that Malfoy was obviously going through some shit, that Harry shouldn’t be doing this, that he didn’t even like Malfoy, that he had a case to solve, that he was with Ginny. Harry ignored all of this and yanked Malfoy closer.

Despite appearances, Malfoy’s fingers were strong as they dug into the back of Harry’s neck. His mouth was hot and hard and god, Harry wanted this. He wanted it so much. It was almost unthinkable that the possibility hadn’t even occurred to him until thirty seconds ago.

“If you don’t want this, say no,” Harry ground out, biting Malfoy’s neck. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

Malfoy’s head was tipped back. He smelled so good. Harry bit him again, harder. 

“Shut up,” Malfoy gasped. “Just shut up. Fuck.” 

Malfoy tugged Harry towards the bed. They fell onto it, Malfoy on his back, his legs spreading easily so Harry was on top of him, pressing him into the mattress. Malfoy made a keening sound and pressed his hips upwards, and any doubts Harry had that Malfoy might not be enjoying himself promptly vanished.

Harry had never felt someone else’s hard cock rub against him before. He was only mildly surprised to find how much it turned him on – maybe he’d always known, deep down. Maybe that was why he wasn’t saying no now. Maybe he needed – just once, he needed–

Never one to be shy, Harry reached down between their bodies and squeezed. Malfoy’s hand in Harry’s hair tightened, and he made a whimpering noise in the back of his throat. God, the sounds he made. Harry ran his fingers along the shape of Malfoy’s cock under his robes, feeling the length and heat of it, then abruptly sat back.

“Wha–?”

“Take them off,” Harry ordered, already stripping out of his own robes. He pulled off his shirt last, emerging back into the musty air of the room to see Malfoy lying there, rumpled but still fully clothed. Harry surveyed him. “I said take your clothes off, Malfoy.”

“I know.” Malfoy tilted his chin up, defiant. The usual effect was ruined not only by the smudges under his eyes, but the spots of colour on his cheeks, the heaving of his chest, his wet lips curling into a slow smirk. “You do it.”

Everything about this was so wrong. Before now, Harry would have sworn on his life, on someone else’s life, that Malfoy issuing commands with that haughty look on his face would do nothing but piss him off. And yet, right now, it made Harry want to devour him. 

“You’re a little shit,” Harry told him just the same, and Malfoy’s smirk grew. That is, until Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy’s chest. “ _Evanesco_.” 

Malfoy’s smug expression was wiped away with his clothes. “Fuck, that’s so hot,” he breathed, now fully nude. His legs were still spread from where Harry had been lying between them. Harry tried not to stare. “Is it weird to be turned on by you pointing your wand at me?”

“A little.” Harry dropped his wand on the pile of clothes and knelt on the bed. He ran his hand up Malfoy’s leg, just because he could. Malfoy hummed in approval. 

Malfoy’s dick was no less appealing now it was unclothed. Harry gave it a few experimental strokes, amazed at how hard Malfoy was already, at the velvety feel of his skin. Malfoy was propped up on his elbows, looking down at him – his ribs were more prominent than they should have been. Harry’s eyes traced the silvery scars zigzagging Malfoy’s torso, and he raised an eyebrow when he felt Malfoy’s dick twitch in response.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” Malfoy said, his voice low, his gaze intense. “Anything at all. I want you to. I’ve wanted–”

“Suck my cock.” The words left Harry’s mouth without his permission, but he didn’t regret them – especially with the way they made Malfoy’s eyes darken and his dick jump again before he scrambled to his knees. 

Their mouths met, Malfoy’s fingers digging again into Harry’s shoulders. Harry found himself reaching back to sharply squeeze Malfoy’s arse, and Malfoy made another delicious whimper that shot straight to Harry’s groin. But he wasn’t pliant for long – one more bite to Harry’s lower lip, and Malfoy shoved him to the side. Harry fell back onto the bed. 

“Oi!”

“I’m not putting your dick in my mouth while you’re kneeling up like that. What do you think I am, a flobberworm? I have a spine, you know.”

“You could’ve just asked – oh. _Oh_.” Harry grabbed a handful of Malfoy’s hair while Malfoy’s hot mouth slid down his cock. “That – _ah_ – that feels good.”

Malfoy looked up at him then, his smirk evident even as his mouth was full, and Harry dropped his head back and swore.

Malfoy sucked Harry’s cock with purpose, and through the thickening cloud of pleasure, Harry struggled to process what was happening. Twenty minutes ago he’d been alone in his study, almost tearing his hair out in frustration. Now, he was in a dingy room in the Leaky Cauldron with his dick in Draco Malfoy’s mouth, almost tearing Malfoy’s hair out in frustration. And Malfoy was so damn good at this…

Harry lifted his head and looked downwards. Malfoy held his eyes as he slid his mouth all the way down, until Harry could feel the tightness of Malfoy’s throat swallowing around him. 

“Fuck.” His hips bucked up into that hot, tight wetness, and Malfoy made a choked noise and drew his mouth back up, working his tongue around the head, closing his eyes in apparent relish. Harry let his head fall back again. 

He valiantly tried to gather himself together through this unanticipated haze of lust. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. A fresh surge of guilt shot through him. What was he doing? Why hadn’t he just said no to this? 

Malfoy’s teeth grazed the underside of Harry’s cock and Harry hissed, his hips thrusting upwards, his grip on Malfoy’s hair tightening. 

“Mmf – I like that,” Malfoy said, pulling off but not moving away. His breath played over the wet, sensitive head. His hand was still wrapped around the base. “Fuck my mouth again.”

“Wha–?” Harry’s dick was fully hard in Malfoy’s grip, but he was distracted. He should leave. He should stop this and go.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and his face shifted into a familiar annoyed expression. Harry was again amazed that it didn’t turn him off completely – in fact, quite the opposite. What was happening to him?

Apparently dissatisfied with Harry’s lack of attention, Malfoy reached up to where Harry’s hand was still clutching his hair and placed his own hand on top of Harry’s. Then, he pushed down, shoving his head down onto Harry’s dick. He looked up at Harry, mouth full, eyebrow raised, as if to say, “See?”

Harry stared. He didn’t untangle his fingers from Malfoy’s hair. Slowly, he lifted his hand, and Malfoy’s head went with it, his mouth sliding luxuriously up the length of Harry’s cock. When Malfoy’s lips were wrapped around just the tip, Harry paused. This would be the perfect time to stop. Harry took a deep breath. Malfoy’s taunting eyes met his. His tongue slid around the head of Harry’s cock.

 _Fuck_.

Harry pushed on Malfoy’s head, his hips thrusting upwards, and groaned deeply. God, but it felt so good. He dragged Malfoy up again and shoved him down. Malfoy let out a long moan and braced himself on his hands, letting Harry manhandle his head and fuck his mouth, his eyes closing in pleasure only to look up at Harry every now and then, their gazes locking. 

And, despite everything, Harry couldn’t look away. The indescribable feeling of thrusting into Malfoy’s hot mouth, of Malfoy having asked for it, wanting it, taking it – of knowing this was _Malfoy_ – _fuck_. Harry’s breath came in harsh bursts and his neck hurt from craning to stare downwards but god, he couldn’t help himself. He needed this. He couldn’t get enough.

Harry lost himself in the sensations, the noises Malfoy was making, the sight of him – fuck, the sight of him – until he felt a tingling pressure begin to build. He threw his head back onto the pillow with a grunt and yanked Malfoy upwards. Malfoy gasped and sat back on his heels. He wiped his mouth with a shaking hand. 

“Merlin, I’m so hard.” Malfoy’s voice was hoarse. “I’m so fucking hard, you turn me on so much.”

Harry’s free hand shot down to grab the base of his dick, holding back the orgasm that threatened to overwhelm him at the words, at the roughness of Malfoy’s voice. Malfoy’s eyes followed the movement. His mouth dropped open. “Are you – shit, Potter, are you close already?”

“Shut up.”

Harry had replied automatically, but Malfoy wasn’t mocking him; Malfoy sounded amazed, his eyes dark and wide as they fixed on the vice-like grip Harry had around his own cock. 

“I want you to fuck me so hard that I feel it for weeks,” Malfoy said in that same dazed voice. 

Harry tightened his grip. “Jesus, Malfoy.”

But Malfoy was already moving, leaning down over the side of the bed and rooting around on the floor. He sat back up, triumphant, Harry’s wand in his hand. 

Harry’s stomach plummeted. “What are you–?”

“Hush.” Malfoy rose onto his knees, one hand on Harry’s chest for balance, and leaned forwards. Harry’s wand disappeared behind his body, and Harry felt heat flare across his face. 

“ _Purgare_ ,” Malfoy murmured. “ _Laxus_. _Lubrico_.”

The spells were only vaguely familiar to Harry. Perhaps it was that that made them so appealing. Perhaps it was the way they fell from Malfoy’s mouth, his clipped accent a contrast to his hoarse voice, his swollen lips. Perhaps it was simply what they implied: Malfoy was preparing himself for Harry to fuck him. 

Harry had no idea how he was going to keep himself from coming spectacularly as soon as his dick touched the rim of Malfoy’s arse. All thoughts of stopping had entirely gone from his mind. There was no way he could leave. Not when Malfoy was looking at him like that.

Instead, he put his hand on Malfoy’s hip, dug his nails into smooth skin, and helped Malfoy manoeuvre himself into position. 

“I can’t wait for this,” Malfoy was saying, flicking his head to clear sweaty strands of hair from his eyes. “Merlin, I can’t wait to have your cock inside me. Fuck. I can’t believe this is happening.” 

Harry wasn’t sure the words were meant for him, and was too distracted to care – Malfoy had just wrapped a hand around Harry’s cock and was lining himself up. 

The first touch of Malfoy’s hole against him felt impossible. Harry had heard the spells, assumed they had prepared Malfoy, made him ready, but surely Harry would never be able to fit. But Malfoy whined and bore down on him, and Harry felt his cock push through the dense ring of muscle into a hot, unbelievable tightness.

“Malfoy,” he gasped, hands gripping Malfoy’s thighs. 

“Merlin, feels so good,” Malfoy replied, his head tipped back. He slid down further. 

“Fuck, _Malfoy_.” Harry was unable to stop his hips from giving a short, sharp thrust and was rewarded with a low moan.

“Yes, like that,” Malfoy breathed. “Don’t hold back, I want to feel you.”

“ _God_.” This was all happening so fast. Harry didn’t want to – didn’t want to hurt Malfoy – but it felt so good to let himself move. He tentatively allowed another push upwards – not much, not fast – and Malfoy nodded frantically, hair falling into his face again.

“Yessss, Potter. Come on, more, I want to feel more.” He circled his hips and wrapped his hand around his cock, which was still fully hard, jutting out from his body. “Come on, Potter, fuck me.”

Harry dug his fingers in. Malfoy was still moving, a slow gyration that was driving Harry wild, but he seemed content to wait for Harry to do most of the work. “Are you sure,” Harry ground out, not certain he’d be able to pull out if Malfoy said no. “Are you sure you want–”

“ _Fuck_ , yes.” Malfoy thrust his arse backwards, spearing himself sharply on Harry’s cock. “Fuck, I want this, I want you, _please_.”

Harry’s hips snapped upwards again, quite without his permission. He groaned. “God,” he said, and moved his feet to get better leverage. “God.” He spread his hands over Malfoy’s cheeks and squeezed, lifting Malfoy upwards, then fucked him, hard.

It was unbelievably good. If Harry’s brain were capable of thought, he’d struggle to find the right words to describe just how good it felt, fucking up into Malfoy, who had his hands splayed on Harry’s chest and who let out a noise of approval with every thrust. But Harry’s brain had entirely disengaged. He was operating on pure pleasure, his body completely in control, his only goal to get _more_.

In one swift move, his cock still buried deep within Malfoy, he flipped them over. Malfoy landed on his back with a surprised huff. 

“Merlin! Potter, you’re–”

The rest of Malfoy’s sentence was lost to a curse and a moan. Harry took up a punishing rhythm, able to go so much harder and deeper now he was no longer working against the weight of Malfoy on top of him. And god, Malfoy felt so good. It wasn’t just the heat and tightness of his arse, but the way his hands scrambled for purchase on Harry’s biceps, the way he threw his head back and arched his neck, the absolutely indecent noises he made. It was the way his hair was a mess, unlike Harry had ever seen it, the way he lifted his hips to meet Harry’s thrusts, the sight of his cock, long and hard and red against his stomach. 

“So – so fucking hot – Merlin!” Harry could still hear his cock in Malfoy’s throat through the hoarseness of Malfoy’s voice. He growled, shifted, fucked Malfoy harder. This prompted the loudest noise from Malfoy yet, almost a yelp. “ _Yes_ , fuck, right there – don’t stop, please don’t stop, _fuck_!” His fingers dug into Harry’s arms. Harry held him down, fucked him with everything he had. His legs were burning but it was nothing – nothing – compared to the searing ecstasy that blazed through the rest of him.

“Potter – I can’t believe – fuck, you’re gonna make me come!” 

Harry wanted to devour Malfoy. He wanted to tear him apart, inch by inch. He was holding his own orgasm back through sheer force of will, his desire to keep fucking Malfoy and watch him shatter stronger than anything he’d ever felt.

Malfoy’s grip was painful. Harry focused on it as he pounded into him. Malfoy sounded almost close to tears as he gasped, “You’re gonna – right there, don’t stop – I’m gonna – fuck! Fuck! _Ah_!”

Harry didn’t stop moving as Malfoy convulsed beneath him. Both his hands were still gripping Harry’s biceps, and his cock spurted over his own stomach and chest completely untouched. Harry couldn’t take it, drinking in the sight greedily. His movements were wild, his eyes raking over every visible inch of Malfoy. He’d been on the edge for so long that it was only seconds later that sensation overwhelmed him, his entire body alight. He couldn’t hold back a deep groan when he reached the peak and fell hard.

He came stronger than he’d done in years, forcing his cock as deep into Malfoy’s arse as it would go. Malfoy was still twitching beneath him, gripping his shoulders, gasping filth and encouragement as Harry panted and swore. He was still seeing stars behind his eyelids when he collapsed, aching and exhausted, sprawled half on top of Malfoy. Malfoy’s bony chest made an uncomfortable mattress, but Harry was far too tired to care.

They were both sticky with sweat and come. While his pulse slowed, Harry listened to the traffic from the Muggle street through the window. Sluggishly, it occurred to him to wonder whether the rooms were fitted with Silencing Charms. It would be a problem if the entire inn had heard what had just happened – it wasn’t as if nobody had noticed them arrive together. 

But Harry found it difficult to worry about anything just then. Malfoy had a hand in his hair and was stroking slowly. The mustiness underneath the smell of sex reminded Harry of disused classrooms and the upper floors at the Burrow. It was so easy to let his eyes drift closed…just for a second… 

He woke up with a start several hours later. He knew how to solve the case.

* * *

He left Malfoy’s room at the Leaky Cauldron without waking him and Apparated from the stairwell straight to the Ministry. He rushed through the permits he needed to round up the final suspects and by four o’clock in the morning, they were all in custody. Soon after dawn, the case was as good as closed. Harry took the Floo back to Grimmauld Place and collapsed into bed. He was asleep within minutes.

He woke up in the middle of the night with a foggy head and a full bladder. He stumbled to the bathroom and took a piss, wincing at the sight of dried come on his cock. He showered for the first time in days, brushed his teeth until the taste of Malfoy was smothered in toothpaste, and went straight back to bed. 

The tap-tap-tap of an owl’s talon on glass woke him. Harry opened his eyes, squinting at the morning light, and waved a haphazard hand to unlatch the window. In flew a small brown owl that Harry didn’t recognise. It dropped an envelope neatly onto Harry’s stomach and left without waiting for a response. 

“Good morning to you, too,” Harry muttered. He stretched, taking guilty stock of the ache in the back of his legs, the bruises on his shoulders and back. 

He hadn’t been thinking clearly. It didn’t excuse it, he knew. But a week without sleep, without food, without company – of course he’d be suggestible. He’d never have done it if he’d been in his right mind. He wouldn’t. 

_But you enjoyed it_ , said a traitorous voice in his head. _You loved it._

Harry shoved the voice away. It didn’t matter whether he’d liked it. He shouldn’t have done it. And what was he going to tell Ginny? Should he tell her? He should, shouldn’t he? Just admit it, explain and apologise for several months. God, what a mess.

He picked the letter off his stomach. His first thought was work, but the parchment wasn’t Ministry standard. His second was Ginny, but his full name and address were written neatly on the envelope – not really her style.

Harry studied the unfamiliar handwriting idly for a moment, then gave up trying to guess and opened the envelope with a slide of his thumb. He looked at the signature first, and felt the bed fall away from under him. He sat up abruptly.

> _Potter,_
> 
> _I wanted to thank you again for your generosity the other evening. You had every reason to close the door in my face, yet you once again proved yourself to be a better man than I could ever hope to be. It seems I cannot escape being in your debt. Tell me at once if there is any way I can begin to repay you._
> 
> _Since your delicate words with the innkeeper, he has been a distant but gracious host. I have been able to rest and eat well. Owls to my parents have been returned unopened, but thanks to you, my situation is much improved from recent weeks._
> 
> _My gratefulness knows no bounds. The Floo in this room will be open to you as long as I am here._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Draco Malfoy_

Harry exhaled. That…was not as bad as it could have been. Really not bad at all. It was such a reasonable letter, in fact, that it was almost…disappointing. Harry even began to doubt whether he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Could he have been so sleep-deprived that he’d deposited Malfoy at the inn and returned home immediately, only to pass out and have an incredibly vivid dream? It wasn’t impossible. Much more probable than the alternative, really. A mind-blowing sexual encounter with Draco Malfoy? Harry, who was with Ginny, and Malfoy, who was an arsehole? He reread the letter, searching for a hidden meaning. Maybe he _had_ made it all up.

He got to the final line and was about to let out a relieved laugh when a shimmer underneath the signature caught his attention. It was a slight shifting of light, nothing that most people would notice. It also happened to be the mark of a spell used within the Auror department to conceal confidential information. 

Stomach sinking, Harry reached under his pillow for his wand and waved it over the parchment. A postscript appeared, ink sliding over the bottom of the page like a snake hunting for prey.

> _P.S. – I can’t recall ever coming untouched before. Was that a wandless spell? You’ll have to teach it to me. Perhaps around nine o’clock tonight?_

“Fuck.” Harry scraped his hair back from his face. He scrubbed at the week-old beard on his chin. Reread the postscript. Felt himself get hard. “Fuck.”

He wasn’t going to go, obviously. But the confirmation that he’d done what he’d done obliterated the tiny bubble of hope that had formed in his chest. And to see it written down so plainly, black ink on white parchment – well. His newly interested cock was a testament to the mixture of emotions that swirled within him.

He should reply, shouldn’t he? It was only polite. After all, most of Malfoy’s letter was humble and gracious. And if he replied refusing Malfoy’s offer of an evening visit, that would be the end of it. Yes, he should nip it in the bud right now.

But how best to get the message across? How did you say “keep the money, the sex was great, I don’t want to see you again” without making it sound dirtier and more transactional than it already was? Harry pondered the wording while he tugged on a pair of pyjama bottoms and followed his rumbling stomach to the kitchen. A cup of tea and two slices of toast later, and he had this:

> _Malfoy,_
> 
> _Don’t worry about repaying me. Clearly, since I had a bag of gold just lying around, you need it more than I do. Plus, the break from my desk was helpful in clearing my head. So, thank you for getting me out of the house, I suppose. Consider us even._
> 
> _Hope you can fix things with your parents soon. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do._
> 
> _Harry_

There. Polite, yet to the point. Maybe even too nice – should he cross out that last line? No, he didn’t want to seem cold – he already felt iffy about having potentially taken advantage of Malfoy’s situation. The least he could do was keep the line of communication open should Malfoy need more gold.

He laid out the two letters – the one he’d just written, and the one Malfoy had sent – side by side, comparing the tone. Words had never been his strong suit, but he thought he'd done rather well. Anyone reading them would see nothing more than a civil correspondence between former schoolmates.

Apart from that blasted postscript…

And where had Malfoy learned how to cast that concealment spell, anyway? It was specific to the Auror department, one of the last things taught during the training programme. They were explicitly told to never share the incantation with anyone outside the department, not even with other Magical Law Enforcement employees. 

Harry frowned and re-read Malfoy’s letter anew. Was it too convenient that Malfoy had shown up on Harry’s doorstep, asking for help, while Harry was in the middle of one of the biggest cases of his life? Was it too convenient that Malfoy somehow seduced him – maybe even tricked him – into bed? Eyes narrowed, Harry added a postscript of his own and concealed it with the same spell. See what Malfoy made of that.

> _P.S. – If you think I could perform a wandless spell as delicate as that in circumstances, you greatly overestimate my magical abilities. Speaking of: how do you know how to cast an Auror-grade concealment spell?_

Before he could change his mind, Harry nodded, called his owl (a tawny that, even after five years, he couldn’t bring himself to name) and sent it to the Leaky Cauldron. 

When the reply arrived, another cup of tea later, it was in the form of a blank parchment. Harry, used to receiving letters in this form, cast the revealing charm without a second thought.

> _Potter,_
> 
> _Perhaps it would surprise you to know that other members of the Auror department do not remain as close-lipped as yourself when in intimate situations. Not that I am opposed to your particular brand of angry stoicism. Rather the opposite, in fact._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _DM_

Harry let the parchment fall to the table. Other members of the Auror department? What the hell? Who? Was this a regular thing for Malfoy? Was he working through an alphabetical list of Aurors he could con into bed and had just now made it down to “P”? Was grumpy old Proudfoot pencilled in for next week?

It would be a lie to say he didn’t consider grabbing a handful of Floo powder and storming right over there to interrogate Malfoy in person. It was only the arrival of the _Daily Prophet_ that stopped him. Not for any noble reason – not the reminder of his regular life, nor a stark headline making him pause to appreciate what he had. No, it was the date atop the paper that gave him pause: the 25th. He had slept an entire day away.

Harry swore and knocked over his third cup of tea in his haste to get up. Merlin knew what the goons in MLE had done with his suspects in his absence. He’d assumed they’d be locked up for a few hours and he’d be able to question them while they were still shocked from the arrest. Now they’d had more than a day to think of alibis and excuses. _Damn_ himself for not realising how long he had slept.

* * *

The situation at work was as complicated as Harry had feared, and he spent the morning untangling the messy threads of cover stories that the culprits attempted to weave. Going back and forth between them occupied most of Harry’s attention. But as the day went on and Harry had unpicked their lies enough that he was confident of a conviction, he found himself thinking more and more about Malfoy’s letters.

By the time the evening rolled around, Harry was convinced Malfoy had tricked him. It was all too convenient, Malfoy showing up in the middle of the case with a perfect excuse to distract him. Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy for years, and all of a sudden, Harry is the person Malfoy turns to when he’s in trouble? It didn’t make sense. And when Malfoy’s apparent penchant for Aurors was factored in – well. Something was going on.

It was getting late, but Harry’s day-long sleep had done its work; it was with a clear head that he stepped out of the fireplace in Malfoy’s room at the Leaky Cauldron. Malfoy was lounging on the bed, shoulders leaning against the headboard and one long leg bent at the knee. He had a book in his hands, but he wasn’t reading it; he was staring at Harry, his mouth open.

“You came.” His voice was soft. Harry narrowed his eyes and strode towards the bed, drawing his wand.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Welcome back to my humble abode,” he said, his eyes – so much brighter than last time – following Harry as he approached. “Please, do make yourself at home – _oh_.” His words were swallowed by a gasp as Harry grabbed his chin and aimed his wand. Malfoy’s neck moved against Harry’s fingers as he swallowed.

“I rather thought there’d be more angst-ridden foreplay,” he said, audibly trying for his usual careless tone but falling a fair distance short, “but I’m happy to jump straight in if you’re really in the mood–”

“Shut up,” Harry snarled. Malfoy’s jaw snapped closed immediately. “Tell me what you’re planning.”

Malfoy swallowed again, Adam’s apple moving against Harry’s little fingertip. “Are we roleplaying?” He looked up at Harry through heavy lashes. “Have I done something very bad, Auror Potter? Do I need to be punished?”

Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy’s chin, tipping his head backwards. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy’s breathing quickened at this, his lips parting. It was infuriating. Harry felt his cock twitch.

“I received an interesting letter this morning,” Harry said conversationally, not loosening his grip. “It was from a person who has never been employed by the Ministry in any capacity, and yet he was using top-level Auror-regulated spellwork.”

“What a rogue,” Malfoy breathed. 

“When questioned,” Harry continued, “he admitted to having taken advantage of a member – possibly several members – of the Auror department in order to learn the information.”

“Is that what he said?” Malfoy glanced down at Harry’s wand. “Did he also happen to mention, last time you saw him, how much he likes you pointing your wand at him?”

“The last time I saw him,” Harry said, leaning closer, “he showed up on my doorstep while I was in the middle of a very important case and managed to keep me away from work for hours.”

Malfoy licked his lips, but he said nothing. His neck was bared and his breath was coming in quiet, sharp bursts, but he wasn’t resisting. Even the book still lay in his hands, one finger loosely held in place to mark the page. 

“You’re up to something,” Harry said.

The corners of Malfoy’s mouth twitched, his eyes glinting above Harry’s grip. “Would it make you feel better to think so?”

Harry forced Malfoy’s head back further. A suggestion of a whimper escaped Malfoy’s throat, yet still he made no move to struggle. God, why was this turning Harry on so much? It was hardly the first time he’d interrogated a suspect off the record, and it had certainly never affected him in this way before.

“If you won’t tell me that, then tell me this,” Harry said. “Who was it? Which other Aurors have you compromised?”

The glint in Malfoy’s eyes sharpened, and his mouth curled into a smile despite the grip Harry had on him. “Why, Potter,” he said in a silky voice, “are you jealous?”

Harry leaned closer, bringing the tip of his wand right up to Malfoy’s face. “Who was it, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s eyes lowered to Harry’s mouth. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I want you so much.”

Harry’s cock throbbed. He’d been so preoccupied with what Malfoy might be plotting that he’d pushed the details of their last interaction to the back of his mind. He remembered suddenly, with startling intensity, how Malfoy had driven him absolutely wild. How one kiss had sent him into a frenzy of desire. He narrowed his eyes and forced the memory away. 

“Answer the question, Malfoy,” he hissed.

Malfoy let out another breathy sound. Fuck.

“I meant it when I said you can do anything to me.” Malfoy’s voice was low and soft, but Harry was so close that he could feel the words on his face. “Anything you want. Anything at all.”

“I want you to answer my fucking questions.” But the words lacked conviction even to his own ears.

Malfoy’s only reply was a heated look. They gazed at each other for a long, tense moment, their breathing loud against the stillness. Then the moment snapped, and they fell on one another like animals.

Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy’s jaw and attacked him, teeth and tongue and lips biting and licking and kissing. Malfoy – who had been so calm and still while Harry was questioning him – burst into life, the book landing on the floorboards with a _thunk_ as Malfoy’s hands shot up to clutch Harry’s face, his shoulders, his hair. 

“Been thinking about this ever since you left,” Malfoy gasped into Harry’s mouth. He pulled on the back of Harry’s head so Harry was dragged forwards, pushing Malfoy back onto the bed. “Fuck, I couldn’t get you out of my head for one minute. I can’t believe you came back.”

“I didn’t,” Harry growled, biting Malfoy’s lip and running his hand down Malfoy’s side to yank up his shirt. “I didn’t come back for this. That’s not – I’m here for answers.”

“Yes, yes.” Malfoy shifted on the bed so that Harry was pressed firmly between Malfoy’s legs, Malfoy’s foot hooking around the back of him and pulling him downwards. Harry moved his hips to push his aching cock against Malfoy’s answering hardness. They both groaned.

“Do you want to tie me up and question me some more?” Malfoy asked, arching his back as Harry scraped his teeth along the smooth join between his neck and shoulder. “I could be hiding any number of nefarious things, you’ll have to interrogate me thoroughly to be sure.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Harry growled, and with a wave of his wand, Malfoy’s wrists were secured to the wall above his head. Another wave, and Malfoy’s clothes vanished. 

It was startling the difference a day had made to Malfoy’s physique (all the more reason to suspect foul play, Harry told himself). He was still visibly too thin, faint shadows under his eyes and smudges of bruises across his torso and along his arms. Yet he seemed somehow more alive, his skin more vibrant, his hair brighter. Perhaps it was merely the way he held himself: surer, more confident – despite being tied up and naked and looking up at Harry with that sinful mouth caught halfway between a gasp and a smirk.

“I was worried that I’d imagined you,” Malfoy told him, seemingly completely unconcerned about his new constraints and state of undress. “Or that I had let all those years of fantasising about you twist my memory. But fuck, no, you’re genuinely like this.” He pushed his hips up so Harry couldn’t fail to see his hard, pink cock lying against his belly. 

“Pretty words, Malfoy,” Harry said, his voice even despite his own painfully aroused state. He wrapped his hands around Malfoy’s prick and tugged roughly. Malfoy swore. “I don’t believe a thing you’re saying.”

“I’ve wanted you for years,” Malfoy said with a gasp as Harry twisted his hand sharply. “I realised in eighth year, when you hexed that snotty Ravenclaw who insulted me. Do you remember?”

“I hexed a lot of people in eighth year.”

“I know. God, it was so hot.”

Honestly, Harry didn’t recall the incident Malfoy was referring to. He’d spent half of eighth year in a haze of dizzying relief that it was all over; he’d spent the other half having nightmares and getting angry at everyone and everything. He’d been especially angry with himself. He still was.

And yet, for whatever reason, Malfoy liked that. Supposedly.

“You’re fucked up,” Harry told him. 

Malfoy laughed. “Absolutely.”

“Me too,” Harry said, and swooped down to wrap his lips around Malfoy’s cock. 

Malfoy surged upwards, his legs spasming and his feet scraping across the bed for purchase while he let out a stream of curses. His cock was warm and velvety in Harry’s mouth, bigger than he’d anticipated it being, and it tasted like sex. Harry’s mouth watered, and he sucked and swallowed to stop saliva dripping out of his mouth and down Malfoy’s shaft. 

“Shit, _Potter_ ,“ Malfoy was saying. “God, that feels so good.”

Harry tried to engage his brain and think of what he liked when Ginny went down on him, but thinking of Ginny made his stomach twist unpleasantly, so he quickly pushed the attempts aside and allowed Malfoy’s noises to guide him.

It was easier and far more enjoyable than he’d thought it would be. He hadn’t realised that he’d contemplated what sucking cock would be like – but once he was doing it, he found himself comparing it to his expectations: yes, I knew it would taste this good. No, I didn’t realise my jaw would ache like this.

For all Harry’s inexperience, it wasn’t long before Malfoy’s moans rose in pitch and his hips began to jerk. Harry lifted his head and wrapped a vice-like hand around Malfoy’s dick.

“Are you part of a bigger operation, or are you acting alone?” Harry asked.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Malfoy gasped. “What?”

“Did somebody send you to my house the other day?” Harry clarified. He wiped his mouth with his free hand. Malfoy’s eyes followed the motion.

“ _No_.” His scarred chest rose and fell rapidly. “Are we still roleplaying or are you serious?”

Harry squeezed. Malfoy bucked his hips with a whine.

“I was never roleplaying.” God, Malfoy was so hot. How had Harry not realised how much he would like this? “Who told you the details of the Paxman case?”

“I’ve never heard of anyone called Paxman. I have no idea what you’re talking about. _Fuck_ , please let me come, please, I’m so close–”

“Why did you decide that after dark on a Wednesday was the right time to show up? It’s an odd time to pay a visit to someone you hadn’t seen in years.”

“Because that’s when I got kicked out!” Despite Harry’s rough treatment, it was the first time in the last few days that Harry had heard an edge to Malfoy’s voice. “And then Gringotts wouldn’t let me in, and once Parkinson found out I was disinherited, she laughed in my face, and I wandered the streets of Muggle London for hours thinking about how you told me your address after my trial and I knew you would help and I – I wanted to see you, I’ve thought about it so much over the last few years but I didn’t think it would – I didn’t know you would – I never thought you’d say yes to this–”

Harry let go of Malfoy and stood up. Malfoy gaped at him.

“I’m telling the truth,” he insisted. He tugged at the bindings around his wrists. “Why would I get involved in an Auror case? What motivation could I possibly… Hold on, what are you doing? You’re not leaving?” he said sharply. 

“No,” Harry said. He spun his wand around and placed it in Malfoy’s bound hand. Malfoy gaped some more.

“What’s this?” he asked cautiously.

“Cast the spells,” Harry said. “The ones you did last time. I’m going to fuck you.” He started to strip, undoing the buttons of his robe, his eyes on his wand held loosely in Malfoy’s hand, on Malfoy’s slack-jawed expression. “If you don’t cast them soon I’ll fuck you without them,” he warned, and took off his shirt. 

“Shit,” Malfoy said, dazed. “Fuck. Yes. Fuck. I… The angle, I can’t do it from here.” He gave the wand a haphazard wave in demonstration. Harry flicked his fingers at the headboard, barely pausing in taking off his trousers, and Malfoy’s wrists fell, still bound together. He made a small noise of pain at the sudden movement, but he was quick and sure as he reached down and aimed Harry’s wand.

“ _Purgare_ ,” he said, locking eyes with Harry. Harry burned with how much he wanted him. “ _Laxus._ ” Did Malfoy know what that refined fucking accent casting those spells did to him? _“Lubrico_.”

Harry held out his hand and his wand flew from Malfoy’s fingers. Another flick, and Malfoy’s wrists were secure against the headboard again. 

“I’m not done questioning you.” Harry slowly moved to the foot of the bed and reached down to assess Malfoy’s handiwork. 

“Feel free,” Malfoy said. “Though if we can move away from the subject of my father, this might go better – _ohh_.” 

Malfoy’s hole was hot and slick and tight around Harry’s fingers. It felt almost unbearably intimate, so similar and yet so different to finger-fucking a cunt. He pushed in and out a few times, familiarising himself with the angle, watching how Malfoy’s balls moved, how his cock jumped with every push.

“Ah – more,” Malfoy gasped.

“Ask nicely,” Harry said. A string of pre-come dribbled from Malfoy’s cock.

“Please. _Please_. I want you inside me. I need you. _Please._ ”

Harry would have liked to make Malfoy suffer a little longer, but he himself felt as if he would explode if he didn’t fuck Malfoy immediately. He withdrew his fingers – a moan from beneath him – and lined himself up. 

The first touch felt just as impossible as last time. Malfoy was so tight, and Harry hesitated, not confident that he wouldn’t hurt Malfoy if he carried on. But Malfoy was encouraging him, begging him to sink further in. So Harry did.

He went slow – much slower than last time, when Malfoy had impaled himself on Harry in one smooth movement – and allowed himself to savour it: the tendrils of pleasure wrapping around his entire body, Malfoy’s increasingly frustrated stream of words, the overwhelming relief of _yes_ , _finally_ , _this._

He stilled when his hips were pressed against Malfoy’s arse, his cock buried as deep as it could go. He took a minute to breathe, surveying Malfoy spread beneath him like a feast laid out for a king. Malfoy’s pleading faded, and for several long moments, they simply looked at each other, fulfilment and anticipation uniting them. 

Malfoy broke the moment first.

“Potter,” he said. His face was as unguarded as Harry had ever seen it. “You have to move. You’re killing me. You need to fuck me. You need to.”

As a rule, Harry didn’t like taking orders from anyone other than his superiors at work, and even then it irked him to be told what to do. On the other hand, Harry did really, really want to fuck Malfoy, so he decided to let this one slide. He lifted Malfoy’s legs onto his shoulders, tightened his grip, and began to move. 

God, but the withdrawal felt so good it was almost painful, and the first push back in sent new waves of pleasure crashing over him. Harry allowed himself several long, slow thrusts, closing his eyes, pressing his forehead against Malfoy’s leg, letting Malfoy’s quiet noises send shivers down his spine. 

Then he opened his eyes and got back to work.

“So,” he said, his voice coming out low and rough, “you never answered my question.”

“Fuck,” Malfoy said. “Are you serious? C’mon – faster, please–”

“Tell me which other Aurors you fucked.” Harry leaned forwards, pressing Malfoy almost in half as he pushed his cock deep inside him.

“I haven’t!” Malfoy’s fingers scrabbled for purchase on his bindings. “I’ve never fucked an Auror before you – _fuck_! More, please – Potter–”

“You’re lying,” Harry growled, punctuating his words with another slow, sharp, deep thrust. “You said, in your letter–” another thrust – “what was it? An Auror told you the spell in an–” thrust – “‘intimate situation’.”

“Is that what you… That wasn’t – it wasn’t me he told,” Malfoy said breathlessly, letting out a cry as Harry thrust in again. “It was Parkinson, she – ah! – she’s with Cunningham. Roger – fuck! – Roger Cunningham. He just completed training last year – _fuck,_ you’re killing me, please touch me, please, fuck me faster, come _on_ –”

Harry had never heard of a Roger Cunningham. Or maybe he had – it was hard to think. Malfoy intoxicated Harry in a way that Harry had never experienced before. It had – and Harry felt his stomach twist at the thought – never been like this with Ginny. She had never turned him into this rough, desperate mess. Malfoy consumed him, warped his every rational thought until all Harry wanted was _Malfoy_ , _more_ , _now_.

“You expect me to believe that?” Sweat prickled on his forehead; he shook his hair out of his face impatiently and increased the pace of his hips, gripping Malfoy’s legs and spreading him wider. “Some name you just made up?”

“Not made up.” Malfoy arched his back. “There’s no one else, I swear. It’s – fuck! – it’s just you. It’s always been – _ah_ , _fuck_ , yes, right there! Faster, _please_!”

Another deep moan filled the air, and Harry couldn’t say which of them had made it. He dug his fingernails into the flesh of Malfoy’s thighs and finally, finally let loose, fucking Malfoy with abandon.

Malfoy was writhing, squirming, desperately trying to meet Harry’s punishing thrusts but lacking the leverage to do anything but dig his heels into Harry’s back. His head was thrown back – then lifted, Malfoy’s heated gaze raking over Harry – then thrown back again with a groan as Harry pounded in especially hard, Malfoy’s neck bared, the entire length of him stretched out, all Harry’s for the taking. And Harry did take – hard and fast and hot and deep and _fuck_ , how could he stop? How could he ever stop?

He shifted his grip without slowing the pace of his hips. One of Malfoy’s legs fell to the bed, freeing Harry’s arm. Harry caught sight of Malfoy’s swollen cock leaking over his stomach and knew immediately that he needed to feel it, needed to feel Malfoy fall apart in his hand, needed to feel Malfoy coming on him, around him, under him.

He grabbed Malfoy’s dick – too roughly, too tightly – and Malfoy moaned. 

“I won’t last,” he panted. 

Harry bit Malfoy's thigh, which was still hoisted over Harry’s shoulder, and started jerking his hand in time with his thrusts. 

“ _God_ , fuck, I won’t – I’m so close – you’re getting me so close–”

“Come for me, Malfoy,” Harry growled, and Malfoy let out a cry, tossed his head backwards and did just that, his legs tightening around Harry, his hips pushing upwards, his dick coming and coming and coming, thick strings of it landing over his chest, his stomach, coating Harry’s hand.

All the while, Harry didn’t – couldn’t – stop fucking him, the slap of flesh against flesh drowned out by the pounding of his heart. Malfoy whimpered and jerked against him and Harry let go of Malfoy’s cock, digging sticky fingers into Malfoy’s side to drag him as close as possible while he chased his release. 

Underneath him, Malfoy was the picture of debauchery. His face was red, his hair was a mess, he was still tied up and he was covered in come. Some of it had landed on his face. As Harry watched, the first stirrings of orgasm gathering in his stomach, Malfoy’s tongue slid out to lick up a stray drop.

Harry’s climax slammed into him so hard that he nearly passed out. He could vaguely hear a long, low groan and assumed he was the one making it, but had no power to stop it. His entire body was pulsing, shaking, forcing himself as deep as possible into Malfoy, all hot, white, overwhelming pleasure. 

And then it was over. 

This time, Harry retained enough of himself that he didn’t collapse on the spot. He let Malfoy’s leg fall and sat on his heels, catching his breath, allowing his awareness to slowly expand away from Malfoy – beautiful, wrecked, come-smeared Malfoy. It had started raining at some point. A summer thunderstorm. 

Harry slowly pulled his hips back, watching as his softening cock slipped out. An ooze of come followed it. 

“Fuck,” Harry said. He ran a finger through the spill, traced it around Malfoy’s hole, and pushed his finger inside. Malfoy whimpered, widened his legs. “Fuck.”

“Potter.” Malfoy’s voice was quiet compared with his earlier moans, which still rang in Harry’s ears. “Can you… My arms.”

Harry dragged his eyes upwards. Malfoy’s wrists were red under the bindings, his shoulders visibly stiff.

“Shit.” Harry carefully withdrew his finger and held out his hand for his wand. He realised just before the wand slapped into his palm that his hand was still covered in come. Now his wand was too. “Sorry,” he said. “Come here.” He cast a quick cleaning charm – which did nothing to help his wand – and settled himself at the top of the headboard. “Ready? We’ll go slow.” Malfoy nodded.

A flick, and the bindings vanished. Harry caught Malfoy’s arms before they could fall, gently lowering them while Malfoy hissed as sensation returned. Once they were all the way down, Harry healed Malfoy’s wrists.

Malfoy looked up at him. “Potter?” he said softly. Harry realised his thumb was rubbing soft circles on the inside of Malfoy’s arm and pulled away.

“Hm?”

Malfoy tugged him down and kissed him, long and deep and soft. Harry lost himself in it, fancying he could taste Malfoy’s come on his tongue, feeling his cock stir again.

“Stay?” Malfoy asked quietly into his mouth a while later. It was the second time Malfoy had asked him that, and it tempted Harry just as much as the first. But it felt worse, somehow – which was stupid, he knew; there was hardly anything worse than what he’d done already. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to get in bed with Malfoy. He couldn’t let any of this happen again.

“I have work tomorrow,” he said, resting his forehead on Malfoy’s. “I can’t – this is the last time.”

“Yeah,” Malfoy said. He kissed Harry again. Harry didn’t protest, lifting a hand to Malfoy’s face to feel the scrape of stubble against his fingers. Malfoy made a soft noise in the back of his throat and pulled away. “Thank you again for, you know. Everything.”

Harry let his hand drop. He stood. 

“Don’t mention it,” he said. He tugged on his trousers and bundled the rest of his clothes under his arm. “I’ll, er. I’ll see you round, I suppose. Let me know if you need anything.”

Malfoy nodded. “I will. You too.”

Harry took him in one final time – stretched out on the bed, cleaned and healed but visibly, undeniably fucked. Then he turned, grabbed some Floo powder and stepped into the flames. 

* * *

Harry wished he could say that was the last time. He wished he could say the last time was the time after, when he’d gone to the Leaky Cauldron under the pretext of questioning Malfoy again, not even a week later, and had ended up with Malfoy on his lap kissing him greedily, grinding against him until they came, gasping into each other’s mouths. He wished he could say it was the time after that, when Ginny had sent him an owl saying she was extending her trip and could Harry join her yet. Harry had replied emphasising that work was still busy and had lasted three guilt-ridden days before he’d found himself on his knees in front of Malfoy, Malfoy’s shaky voice teaching him how to deep-throat, Malfoy’s hand buried in his hair. Or even the time after that, when he’d invited Malfoy over to Grimmauld Place and had spent an entire night fucking him in every place and position he could think of.

A month went by, and Ginny still wasn’t home. The weather was getting cooler, Grimmauld Place less stuffy, but Harry hardly noticed; whenever he wasn’t at work, he was occupied with his new pastime: fucking Draco Malfoy.

And if one pushed aside his crushing guilt, which Harry did, things were going surprisingly well. Work was better than it had ever been. His case rate, already one of the highest in the department, doubled. His head felt clear, connections and solutions appearing to him easily. Where once he would have locked himself in his study with mountains of paperwork to identify perpetrators, now he only had to read through files once to have a very good idea of what needed to be done, and a very good idea of how to do it. It felt like the last few years had been an upward battle and finally – _finally_ – things were settling into place. 

Then the letter came.

> _Dear Mr Potter,_

it read.

> _I hope this letter finds you in good health. Indeed, I am hopeful that all aspects of you are healthy, including your Gringotts vault. You see, I find myself in a situation I had not anticipated my being in: rather down on my luck._
> 
> _It has recently come to my attention that you make a habit of lending your assistance to those less fortunate than yourself. Indeed, if my sources are correct, a member of my own family paid a visit to your residence not too long ago, and you were generous enough to offer him a sum significant enough to ensure his installation in the local hostelry, such as it is._
> 
> _It has also come to my attention that that is not all you offered him._

Harry’s legs gave out. He dropped into his chair.

> _Given your particular upbringing, you may be unaware of the customs of our world. Muggles may have different ways than we do; I will be forgiving and assume you did not know that, in the wizarding world, it is considered rather discourteous to take advantage of someone in such a way when they come to you for help. Especially when one has what I believe to be a long-term partner._

“Fuck…”

> _Mr Potter, I am not an unreasonable man. I am aware that you and I have a history, and I will not do you the dishonour of pretending otherwise, in the way some might say you have dishonoured my bloodline. But I approach you now in kindness, with an offer: I will remain silent on this matter. I will not breathe a word to another living soul, and you may continue your dalliance with my son. That is, of course, if you provide me with compensation for being an accessory to these most improper circumstances. If not, I believe the_ Daily Prophet _will pay handsomely for the information I possess._
> 
> _I patiently await your owl._
> 
> _Your obedient servant,_
> 
> _L. Malfoy_

Harry’s heart was racing. 

_…it is considered rather discourteous to take advantage of someone in such a way…_

_…you have dishonoured my bloodline…_

_…the_ Daily Prophet _will pay handsomely for the information I possess…_

God, how had he been so stupid? How had he not seen – he’d _known_ it was suspicious. He’d known it, had gone to Malfoy to confront him and then – what? Malfoy had batted his eyelashes, said he was innocent, and Harry had believed him?

Harry stood and started to pace. He’d ruined his relationship for this. He’d thrown away – god, he’d thrown away the Weasleys. Hermione. His family. There was no way they’d understand – there was nothing _to_ understand. This was all his fault.

No. 

It was all Malfoy’s fault. The conniving bastard. He’d known all along what he’d been doing, what he needed to say to get Harry’s attention. Harry had been wrong about one thing – it was never about the Paxman case. It had always been about this: the Malfoys’ greed. 

Harry swore loudly, and threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire. 

He was so angry that he didn’t hold himself properly as he swirled through the flames, and every knock of his elbows on strangers’ fireplaces only served to rile him up further. By the time he stepped out at the Leaky Cauldron, he was seeing red. This was only exacerbated by Malfoy – half-dressed, bent over the desk in the corner of the room – having the nerve to look over at him and smile. 

“Oh, I didn’t expect you for another hour.” He straightened and walked towards Harry, who was rooted to the spot, shaking in fury, the letter still clutched in his hand. Malfoy hesitated, halting five feet away from him. “Hey… What’s wrong?”

A mug on the bedside table shattered. Malfoy flinched, his eyes snapping to the shards of ceramic. He looked back at Harry warily. “Potter?”

“What’s wrong?” Harry hissed. “You have the nerve… I don’t know why I expected any different from you. After everything you did…you’re scum.”

Malfoy wrapped his arms around himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I thought we were – what’s happened?”

Malfoy’s faux-innocence caused Harry’s tenuous control to break. He strode up to Malfoy and shoved the letter at his bare chest so forcefully that Malfoy almost fell backwards. 

“How _could_ you?” Harry yelled in his face. “I _helped_ you, you were fucking awful and I hadn’t heard from you in years and I was stressed out of my mind and I helped you! How could you _do_ this?”

Malfoy shrank away from him. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about!” He fumbled for the letter and scanned the first few lines. “What is this? I don’t understa…” The colour drained from his face. He looked up, eyes wide. “No,” he said hoarsely. 

“I knew your whole story was a set-up,” Harry snarled. “I should arrest you right now for fraud, obstruction of justice, entering a household through dishonest means – I let you in my _bedroom_ , you sick bastard.” Harry heard another smash behind him and distantly assumed the mirror had exploded.

“Potter – Harry – I swear, I didn’t know about this.” 

Harry made a noise of disbelief and reached into his pocket for his wand. He realised too late that he must have left it at home.

Malfoy saw the gesture and shot out a hand. ”Wait, listen, please! I didn’t know! I’m telling the truth!”

“You’re pathetic,” Harry snapped. “I’m going to see Tom and get the rest of my money back. You need to leave right now and go back to your gutless father. Tell him he can do what he wants. I don’t care. I don’t want to see either of you ever again.”

Malfoy fell to his knees. Harry hadn’t realised just how much Malfoy’s appearance had improved, but in that moment it was as if the last month had been wiped away. Suddenly, Malfoy looked awful. He looked terrified. 

“You can’t,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please, Harry – I promise, I swear to you, I didn’t know, I don’t know how he knew. Don’t – don’t make me go back.” A tear rolled down his face to land on the letter. Harry snatched it from him. 

“Stop crying. You’re not fooling anyone.” 

Malfoy shook his head. “Please,” he repeated, voice thick, eyes wet. “You don’t know what he’s like now. He’ll kill me. He’ll really kill me. _Please_.”

“Goddamn it, get up,” Harry barked. His fingers twitched in the absence of his wand. He cursed himself for forgetting it.

Malfoy didn’t get up, but he scrubbed the glistening streaks of tears from his face. They were quickly retraced.

Harry had never been comfortable around people who cried. But it was as if each one of Malfoy’s tears put out the fire of Harry’s anger, drop by drop. Slowly, the roar in his ears faded. The only sound in the room was Malfoy’s quiet, gulping breaths.

“I’m ruined,” Harry breathed, dazed in the aftermath of his own ire. 

There was a long silence. Then:

“You could…give him what he wants,” Malfoy said hesitantly. “Make him swear an oath to keep his word. Give him what he wants and…and you can have me.”

“I don’t want you,” Harry snapped. 

Malfoy flinched, but took a deep breath and continued. “Whatever you want, then. If you pay…”

Harry spun on his heel and started to pace. What should he do? He knew what the right thing would be – tell Lucius Malfoy where to stuff his threats. But if the alternative was losing everything…and it wasn’t as if he didn’t have the Galleons to spare…

He finished his tenth course from the window to the door and turned – and was shocked to find Malfoy standing in front of him, eyes puffy. 

“Please,” he said softly. He reached out a hand to Harry’s arm. Harry shied away from it. “I swear to you, I never lied to you. Everything I said was true. Everything. You can go to the Apothecary right now and get some Veritaserum and I’ll take it, you can ask me anything.”

Harry almost felt like crying himself. How was he supposed to know the truth? There was nowhere he could go – nobody he could talk to about this. It was all on him. He was all alone.

Malfoy reached out his hand again. This time, Harry let him.

“I don’t know about you,” Malfoy began shakily, “but this – you and me. It’s been…it’s been amazing. I never thought… I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for years. I would never have thrown it away, not even before I had it. Especially not for my father.” 

Harry searched his face and couldn’t detect any hint of deception. But then – had he ever been able to read Malfoy?

“You could pay him for now, and we could figure out a way to shut him up later. We could Obliviate him, or – or find out how he knew and destroy any evidence. We can solve this together.” Malfoy moved his hand up to Harry’s neck and leaned closer. “Please don’t take this away.”

It was habit by now to lean into Malfoy’s touch, and Harry did so without thinking. Malfoy’s forehead resting against his was a comfort. It gave Harry a few moments to breathe. 

Malfoy was right: there were ways out of this. It didn’t mean the end of everything. It didn’t mean being beholden to Lucius Malfoy for the rest of his life.

It didn’t mean giving this up.

Harry tilted his head and, with the familiarity of weeks spent crashing together like waves on a shore, Malfoy kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him.

* * *

The next morning, Harry took the Floo back to Grimmauld Place while Malfoy was still asleep. He went straight to the writing desk, grabbed a quill and scrawled a single sentence. He called his owl and sent her out of the window with the note and a bag of gold.

> _Nobody needs to know_.


End file.
